But I promise that I've had a majorly good excuse. Really.
First, I had to get ready for Thanksgiving with my grandparents - you know, the now 86-year-old grandmother who calls me a whore and questions how I raise my daughter every time she sees me? Oh yeah, that one. In anticipation, I decided to cook a little side-dish as sort of a, "look at me grammie, really, I'm a grown-up. I even cook." I made my friend Jessica's Spelt and Roasted Squash Salad, which was really effing yummy; you should totally try it.
Dinner at gram's ended up being quite pleasant - no name calling - and after 6 years, she's finally taken down the family portrait of my ex-husband, the kid, and I. Wow. Could we be moving on? That's all I want for Christmas......
After dinner, the kid decided to stay with my parents for the long weekend. As an added bonus, the boy was working 12 hour days. Are you adding this up? I ended up having so much alone time I wasn't sure what to do with myself. My intent was to work - which I did. Putting together holiday looks for baby boys, gift guides for baby boys and girls under $15 and $25 dollars, moderating forums, and pulling together gift guides for highly fashionable adults too. But all that only took me like, one day. I still had a lot of time to fill. So, what did I do?
- Trolled Facebook and surprisingly found my friend KLJ. Since her work email seems to hate me and I can't get messages about knitting to her that way, I'm hoping we can chat via Facebook now and set up dates that way. Hint, hint KLJ....log in to FB.
- I tracked down the man whom we purchased firewood from - who cheated us out of 1.5 cords, and asked when we would see the rest of our wood. He hung up on me so I called the police and was told I needed to sue him in Civil Court. Great.
- I played Guitar Hero - a lot.
- I ate 2 pints of Ben & Jerry's Half-Baked FroYo.
- I did NOT go shopping - except online.
- I watched a ton of television - HGTV, TLC, Lifetime......
- I knitted a new pair of fingerless gloves.
- I cleaned my house.
I was so productive I can barely stand it. And when the kid came home on Sunday afternoon, I felt so refreshed, it was like I was a new person. I'm not going to lie, I now understand how important it is to take a time-out and that will be my New Year's Resolution; taking time for me.In other unrelated news, Prevention Magazine has asked me to participate in their Flat Belly Diet program for 32 days and blog about it for their online community. I think it's with like 49 other women. Do you think they're trying to tell me something??Anyway, on to a diet, a lawsuit, and more gift guides.....I promise I won't disappear for another 2 weeks this time.....
I've noticed that since I've declared that I don't care if we ever get pregnant, the boy has suddenly become incredibly invested in things.
It's sort of the same thing that happened when I was half-heartedly trying to plan a wedding and he kept putting things off; I finally came home and said, "I've decided I don't want to marry you. I've got the pretty ring, the house, the two dogs, the kid, and a decent tax bracket, why the hell do I need to be bound to you 'till death do us part?" Suddenly he was picking out colors and place settings.
This whole getting pregnant thing has almost become this 007-style mission for him. He maps ovulation cycles and when it's time, he becomes Barry White, whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Of course, I can only laugh because he's about as far from Barry White (or romantic) as you could get.....but he tries.
Our months have become compartmentalized and we live on an ever moving roller coaster of emotions. Now, some of you have asked why we don't just adopt. And we've considered that. But when we look at the numbers, we ask ourselves, "should we really spend that much money to bring another child home when we could be investing it in the future of the perfectly perfect child we already have?" And our answer is always the same, "no."
So until we give up, or decide to throw college for the kid into the hands of fate, my months shape up like this:
Days 1-10 :: Waiting for Barry White to visit.
Days 10-15 :: Shagging shamlessly and reminiscing about what life was like when we were "just dating."
Days 15-27 :: Life is back to normal. But every now and again, I look out the front window and see Auntie Flo parked in her 1983 Lincoln Towncar. The window is cracked, and she looks comfortable out there, in her plush velour seats with her Virginia Slim dangling from her lips. She's staring at the house though, not a good sign.
Day 28 :: Even though I'm not counting days, I know when day 28 arrives. I'm not productive on these days because Auntie Flo is usually not late for the party, but sometimes she gets sidetracked at someone else's house. When she doesn't show up, I secretly smile and go back to praying.
Day 29 :: Sometimes, there's still no Auntie Flo. Maybe she got in a car wreck. Don't know, don't care. I shadow box in front of the calendar, taunting her. "Whatcha got, huh? You think you can take me? I don't think so!" I'm childish, I know. I repeat this exercise every day until I feel it's safe to open, "the cabinet."
Day T-0 :: On the rare months we get this far, this happens to be any day I feel confident. It could be Day 30, it could be Day 35. I open the cabinet and take out the sacred box. Carefully unwrapping that little package, like I'm Charlie and it's holding my Golden Ticket. I haven't seen Auntie Flo's Towncar out front lately, so I think it's safe.
But, of course, it never is. Before I can even get the packaging open, I hear the screeching of tires as she swings into the driveway. She doesn't even knock, she just bursts through the door, smoking her Virginia Slim, cackling like an old hen at a Friday night Bingo game, and waving a tiny little pistol.
"Sorry I'm late kid."
"Geez, you shouldn't have."
"Oh honey, you should know I'd never let you down." This bitch is sarcastic!
I smirk. "Listen, do what you need to, and get the hell out. Your ass is so not invited to Thanksgiving dinner."
**Auntie Flo's picture, courtesy of Daily Mail UK**
Wow! Where the hell have I been? I honestly didn't realize that it's been almost two weeks since I posted anything here.
So, what have I been up to? Well, for one, I've got all sorts of friends having babies right now. So, I've been doing my best to generally avoid them and keep to myself. And yes, I'm still pining away for a baby. Ugh. Does this nonsense ever stop? Like, at some point can I just get over it?
The boy thinks the scenario will play out like this: the kid will be 18 and graduating from high school, toting her pink Samsonite luggage across the world. We'll have our shit packed and our tickets to Europe where we'll make a new life. And then, oops. We're cooking a kid.
At which point, I'll be pissed. I will be angry. Really, truly. Mad as hell.
And speaking of ungrateful mothers......I've recently managed to piss of my someday MIL as well. First, I told her that her son had voted Republican in the election. That almost gave her a heart-attack. Then, I told her that I could see the viewpoint of non-dog owners about dogs running off-leash on So. Portland beaches. For that, I got a tongue lashing. Finally, I told her that we couldn't come over for coffee Sunday morning because we had to rake leaves. She lost her shit on the boy for that one.
She must have really focused her universal energy on being angry at us, because this morning, our dogs got into the cat food and promptly went outside to take individual shits on every single pile of leaves that we've raked up, but not yet bagged.
That's what we get for putting moldy leaves over coffee with the boy's mom. The holiday's are going to be an effing blast this year.
The boy and I ventured out on a date night this weekend - I know, amazing, isn't it? What was even more amazing was that, it was the first date night in a while where we didn't spend $150 between dinner and a babysitter because the kid had a sleepover party to go to. Yee Haw!!
So we went back to a local favorite of ours, The Frog and Turtle, so I could very unsexily gorge myself on poutine again. This time, I didn't even have the advantage of company to distract the boy, so he got to cringe every time I shoved a forkful in my mouth.
I jest, sort of. He wasn't cringing, but I'm sure watching me not so delicately scarf down gravy and cheese laden fries was definitely not sexy at all.
Anyway, our experience there this time was not quite what it was the others. The last time we were there, the restaurant was celebrating their 1 year anniversary - it seems they went hoity-toity the very next day.
When we arrived, we were asked if we had reservations. What?!? I don't think I've ever MADE reservations, anywhere. We were put in to a tiny little table for two that barely had enough room for our drinks, much less our dinner, our waiter looked like Werewolfe from X-Men, and he was so incredibly condescending that I wanted to slap him.
I ordered the Banana Squash soup (after he told me what a rare thing a banana squash is) along with a fruit and cheese plate. My cheese plate had 3 little pieces of cheese on it, really. All in total, their weight probably did not add up to 1 oz. And my fruit plate was actually a tiny little plate with "accouterments" on it.
After it was delivered, he stopped by to ask if anyone had even bothered to explain the cheese and accouterments to me. Really? Do you think I need someone to explain to me the history of this apple and raisin compote? Probably not.
By then, I was so annoyed that I started looking at everyone else in the place. And it was busy. The blond girl who was really quite cute, but who was so busy shoveling bread in her mouth that she couldn't talk to her date. And when she did, she'd shove the bread to one side so it looked like she had a face tumor or something. The other couple sitting next to them - at a table for six I might add, where the girl was very chic and the boy was wearing a baseball cap at the table. She spent their entire meal telling him which fork to use, how to sit, and when to eat - it was horrifying.
All in all, the date was good because we had a night out to ourselves. On the downside, I think that we're over the Frog and Turtle. Not because the food was bad, but because our waiter was way too obnoxious for me to ever want to return. Oh yeah, and he wore a pinkie ring, so I can throw in "bad taste" as well.
I remember being in 4th or 5th grade the first time we had a class about our bodies changing. In fact, I remember it vividly, being ushered into the school gym, one of those big projector screens looming above us up front, and then the screens with black backgrounds and white lettering.
Amazing how that first sex-ed class scars you for life, isn't it?
Several weeks ago, the kid brought home a permission slip to participate in "Family Living" class. When I was in school, there was never a permission slip, you just went. Your parents could come if they wanted to, but really, what kid wants their parents sitting with them while your instructor talks about growing pubic hair? I mean, really.
The kid swore up and down that she was absolutely not going. She threatened all sorts of things if I made her go. Here in our house, we're pretty open about the facts of life, so really, if she didn't go, it wasn't a huge deal. Then her teacher informed her that, for students who were not going to Family Living class, there would be a 5 page essay assigned.
In her mind, that settled it; she was going.
The first few classes weren't bad. They talked about the basics of hygiene, how your body would start changing, that sort of stuff. And then class 4 happened. On the way home from school that day, the kids says, "I had Family Living today."
"Oh yeah? What'd you learn about today?"
We're the only two people in the car, but she glances over her shoulder to make sure that no one is listening in on our conversation. Her voice begins quietly and then picks up steam. "We talked about....VAGINAS! Can you believe that? We talked about VAGINAS in a whole class full of boys."
"Well, it's part of the class."
"Do you know how embarrassing that was? To hear about my VAGINA in front of the boys?"
"Well, I'm sure they were embarrassed too."
"Actually, they looked scared. But when we talked about penises, the girls were laughing."
And then the conversation was over. She was done with it. So what did she learn in Family Living? Apparently that shouting the word vagina is acceptable, and to laugh whenever the word penis is uttered. Hm, maybe she's going to be a future cast member of The Vagina Monologues.
And no, this isn't going to be all x-rated and stuff.
But here's the deal. Last night I spent my evening at the pool, which is the same as almost every other night of the week. But last night, one of the mom's, who is notoriously snobby, and who just happens to drive a mini-van, flashed her thong.
And guess what? It was holey.
Not holy as in religious. Holey as in, her cotton Vicki's Secret thong had holes in it.
Now why do you think that is? We've all been guilty of letting our underwear drawer slide once in a while. Maybe we just don't get around to cleaning it out often enough, or maybe it just creeps up on us and we're like, "Holy Shit! This is holey!" And then we throw it away in disgust.
But this was a holey thong that could not have been mistaken for an acceptable pair of panties. I wouldn't even have noticed except she was wearing ill-fitting jeans that gaped in the back and I had a clear view. And I probably should have told her, maybe not about the obvious holes, but about the fact that she was flashing the masses.
But I didn't. Instead, I sat right there, clucked my tongue and thought, "that's what you get for being such a bitch."
Kind of the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it?
So, after the skunking last Sunday, things really only got worse.
Is that possible?
Indeed, it is.
Animal control informed us on Sunday that they would not come pick up the skunk. "We only deal with domesticated animals and we only work on Tuesday's and Wednesday's." Ok, great. So what if Kujo is prancing around my neighborhood on a Monday morning, then what? They informed us that we could either put the skunk out with our trash on Friday, or bring it downtown and put it in the police departments dumpster.
When they said "out with the trash Friday," I laughed. Right there on the phone. One of those deep, throaty, sinister laughs. The guy on the other end must have known what was coming because that was when he offered up the dumpster option. But thank God we own a truck, because I sure as shit wasn't putting that thing in the back of the VW.
After leaving the dogs outside for the entire night, in which they howled, whined, barked, and were general assholes, our neighbors were kindly waiting for us in the driveway with pitchforks and torches the next morning. One would think that they would understand, given the fact that we have never left our dogs outside overnight, but since they're not dog people, it was pretty much a lost cause. In the end, I baked some pumpkin chocolate chip bread and tried to make nice.
We finally found a vet to make a house call, since a) I was not putting the smelly heathen beasts in my car, and b)Dodger gets car sick anyway and the thought of cleaning out not only skunk smell but doggie barf too was not high on my priority list. Well, lucky us, Dodger was two months over-due on his rabies vaccination. Guess what? Animal control actually DOES work on Monday's, because they were at our house faster than you can say "shittle skittles."
"Well, since he's two month over-due, and the skunk could potentially be rabid, we are recommending, and asking, that you euthanize your dog."
I might have slapped him. I'm not sure. I am pretty sure that I blacked out for a second.
"Well, sir, while I respect your information, that's not going to happen, so why don't you tell me what the next option might be."
Needless to say, we've been quarantined. The skunk wasn't rabid because it's been living under our shed for months. It's walked by Dan in the driveway. It wasn't acting rabid when the dogs bit it. The fact of the matter was, the fat skunk was just too damn slow to get out of the dogs way.
So, how could we have possibly ended such a fantastic week? Oh, this is classic. My ex-husband came in to town to visit with the kid for two days. Arriving on Thursday night, late, he took a cab to his motel, but when Sunday arrived, he asked me for a ride to the airport, because he wanted to save himself the extra $17.
I'm pretty sure you know what my answer was.
And so the boy stepped up to the plate. He offerred to take the ex to the airport. He says it was in an effort to show the kid that her dad and her step-dad could get along, maybe ease some anxiety. I think it was more likely that he was trying to prove something. Either way, I'm pretty sure that it was probably one of the most uncomfortable moments he's ever had.
I felt so sorry for him that I actually gave him permission to smoke in the car on the way home.
